


Miss Calhoun County Tractor Supply and Service 1996 through ‘98

by FrenchTwistResistance



Series: I’ve Always Been Crazy But It’s Kept Me from Going Insane [22]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, I just want caos to be a sitcom where hot middle-aged ladies kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26507479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrenchTwistResistance/pseuds/FrenchTwistResistance
Summary: File under: conversations you don’t want to have while hungover. Or perhaps ever.
Relationships: Hilda Spellman/Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith
Series: I’ve Always Been Crazy But It’s Kept Me from Going Insane [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597594
Kudos: 1





	Miss Calhoun County Tractor Supply and Service 1996 through ‘98

“I’m the Queen of Hell!” Sabrina shouts.

Hilda jumps a little at the sudden sound of it and the jarring ridiculousness of it, but even as she jostles Miss Kingston’s other arm, Miss Kingston’s aim does not falter. She’s still got her pistol aimed right at where Lilith’s heart would be if she weren’t a projected body. Although Hilda’s not quite sure about the veracity of that. It’s not the time to think about these types of details—honestly she should have pinned down the chemistry of it all before she’d had sex with whatever that body was made of—but she can’t help but wonder what kind of mess a jacketed hollow point bullet might make of Lilith’s earthly form in her breakfast nook.

And Queen of Hell. What’s that even mean? Lilith’s been griping about running things down there the whole time she’s been Lilith rather than Mary. Hilda’s about to voice just that concern when Miss Kingston says,

“Well that sounds interesting. I was Miss Calhoun County Tractor Supply and Service 1996 through ‘98.” 

Lilith barks a laugh, says,

“Of course you were. What was your talent? Hog calling?”

“Worse,” Miss Kingston says. “I play accordion.”

Hilda watches Lilith and Miss Kingston calmly exchanging small talk as the latter is poised to shoot the former at any moment. Hilda looks over to Sabrina, who is vibrating with wanting to jump in and say something, and then at Mary, who is frozen in fear and confusion, and finally at Zelda, who is taking a deep drag on her cigarette with a dramatically pinched, longsuffering, put-upon expression on her beautiful film noir face. She gleans from this tableau of reactions that Zelda almost certainly already knows about the Queen of Hell bit and that Sabrina is antsy about telling her version of events so that Zelda’s commentary won’t unduly influence how sympathetic or not Hilda will be when she’s finally privy to the information. What she cannot glean is why she can hear a lot of other voices from the reception room and what all this is about. 

She’s either still a little tipsy or is at the incipient stage of the type of hangover one gets after enough Scarlett O’Haras, in which one’s brain is pretty fuzzy—as if the brain itself is intact and working but muted because a layer of grime needs to be scrubbed off—and one’s body is slow and one’s chest is hot and one’s hands and feet are swollen. What she’d really like to do right now is hit a pause button, go soak in Mary’s hot tub for a good half hour, sleep for twelve hours naked on 500 plus thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets, eat a big breakfast that’s equal parts greasy comfort food and fresh fruit and hot rich black coffee, and then deal with whatever this is fresh as newly mown grass. As Miss Kingston might say—Hilda’s never heard her say it, but it seems like an old-timey colloquialism Kingston might be inclined to—there’s no rest for the wicked, and the righteous don’t need any.

Zelda sneezes.

“God bless you,” Miss Kingston says, still with eyes and gun trained on Lilith, who again barks a laugh. And then Lilith snaps her head toward Zelda, says,

“It’s almost the witching hour. If you want to try to make this work, you’re going to have to get to getting. Maybe a few human sacrifices could help you along. Just spitballing, though.”

“We cannot sacrifice Miss Kingston! I am under no circumstances taking calculus from that creep Mr. Lowry!” Sabrina says.

“I don’t blame you. I’ve been filing complaints about that pervert for ten years,” Mary says. And then she pauses. And then says, “Wait. No objection to sacrificing me, then? What is this: use my body however you want once, shame on you; use my body however you want twice, shame on me? Fucking-A! All witches are dicks!”

“Just. Everyone shut up. No one’s getting sacrificed,” Zelda says, eyes closed in exasperation. She flicks them open suddenly and glares at Hilda: “Although if someone shows up with an old girlfriend I had previously been under the impression that she’d been done with One More Son-of-a-Bitching time this week, that someone will probably be taking a trip to the Cain Pit sooner rather than later.”

“That’s not fair, Auntie Zee,” Sabrina says. “Zelda Newtfoot of Ponca City, Oklahoma, is among the unaffiliated witches in our reception room right now. And that’s on you.”

Another thing about being either still a little toasted or early-hungover is that it makes one a little loose and tingly and jangly and apt to say whatever pops into one’s brain. Hilda says,

“Charlotte, love, as attractive as you are pointing that gun, I’d really rather you put it away. It probably wouldn’t work on your target, who is not exactly a corporeal being, and it’s giving my sister ideas.” Miss Kingston looks over her shoulder at Hilda—it’s a questioning look, and Hilda knows she’ll have to answer those questions some time, but as Hilda places a hand on a firm deltoid and rubs a soothing circle but also maybe relishes the feeling of muscle and cotton under her hand and feels Miss Kingston relax at her touch, Hilda figures Kingston is satisfied for now and she can explain later. 

Miss Kingston nods at Hilda and replaces the .357 in the back of her waistband. Hilda steps in front of her, says to everyone,

“What in the wide wide world of sports is even happening right now?” 

Hilda locks eyes with Zelda, continues: 

“We’ve got Lilith in our breakfast nook saying all kinds of weird stuff; a gaggle of—apparently—unaffiliated witches having some kind of cocktail party in our reception room; our niece is claiming to be ruler of Hell, even though we saw with our own eyes Lilith crowning herself as such; and you've somehow caught a cold. And we’re discussing all this willy-nilly in front of two mortals.”

Zelda lights a fresh cigarette off the butt of her last, deposits the butt of her old cigarette into the garbage disposal, says,

“We don’t really have time for this. The short version is Lucifer is Sabrina’s real father and has deeded Hell to her with Lilith as regent. But Lucifer isn’t ready to cede power, so he’s in Nicholas Scratch’s body causing problems. That’s why I’m sick. And that’s why there are so many unaffiliated witches in our reception room. Maybe if we can all consolidate our power, we can send Lucifer to a lower level of Hell and regain our strength.”

“That sounds incredibly stupid,” Hilda says.

“I can’t say you’re wrong,” Zelda says. “But it’s our best option for now.”

Miss Kingston says,

“I’m not exactly sure what’s going on, but from what I’ve gathered… have y’all considered a containment field? Y’all are witches or something, right? And magic is mostly just electromagnetism, right? No human scientist really understands magnetism, so it might as well be magic. I personally am a Baptist, so I’m used to choosing to believe things I can’t see or prove. But I can assure you that I am able to engineer an electric box in which I can contain an electric entity.”

“Let’s put a pin in that,” Lilith says.

“Holy shit,” Mary says. “A pin? Let’s get real: you’re joking yourself. Whoever you think you are, you’re wrong. I’m much more me than you could’ve ever pretended to be.”

Lilith and Mary look at each other.

Zelda and Hilda exchange a glance. 

Sabrina says,

“It’s now or never.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Canon? I don’t know her. I pretend to know her, and I try to run alongside her. But I’m the chubby girl at the 5k—I can’t keep up, and I take shortcuts.  
> 2\. Original Characters who are inside jokes with myself. I’m not sorry, and you’re welcome.


End file.
